Extraordinary Things
by Raletha
Summary: [Postscript Arc] It is a new year and the end of war. Trowa looks for a new purpose. [3x4x3; canon, yaoi, drama, angst]


Extraordinary Things 

By Raletha

**Disclaimer** : Gundam Wing does not belong to me. It is copyrighted to Bandai, Sunrise, and the Sotsu agency. I am using the characters for entertainment purposes only. Original content and concepts, however, are my own: © Raletha 2002 & beyond. **Pairings** : 3x4x3 **Rating** : PG **Content** : yaoi, drama, angst, friendship **Summary** : It is a new year and the end of war. Trowa looks for a new purpose. **Notes** : This is the first fic in the Postscript Arc. Since I haven't filled in between Destiny and this yet, by this time the boys are involved seriously, but have not explored the physical side of their relationship very far yet. **Thanks** : Big Thank You's to Anne Olsen and Kay Zozma for their wonderful beta reading. Huge thanks also to Lady Bast and Lorena for their editorial comments on the work in progress and the final draft. *group hug*   


2 January AC 196 - MO-II 

  


"You don't have to come with me, you know," said Quatre for at least the eighth time. It was the new year, and colour had at last begun to return to his cheeks. 

Even so, to Trowa, Quatre looked too pale and fragile as he lay despondent in the hospital bed. Diminished in spirit and body by the war he seemed; the events of the past few months had worn on all of them, but Quatre had been more susceptible to it than the others. He still cared so much. He'd made it possible for the rest of them to believe. 

But perhaps it was just the fluorescent lighting, combined with the unfortunate pea green of the hospital issue pyjamas that made him look so small and vulnerable propped up against a mountain of pillows with the IV line snaking over his arm. 

"I do know that," said Trowa from his seat nearby. 

Quatre ignored the soft-spoken reply and continued without looking directly at his friend. "You probably want to see Catherine again, anyway. I have plenty of people to take care of me, and I'm not very good company at the moment. You'll be dreadfully bored." 

"I'll be fine." The possibility of boredom was hardly a concern, and he would contact Catherine in time. "I don't care how attentive your servants are, I'm still coming with you," Trowa placed a hand on the side of the mattress near Quatre's to draw the boy's attention, "unless you can tell me flat out that you don't want me to." 

Quatre scowled as he turned his head. "You know I don't _not_ want you to." 

"Then let me." 

"Fine," Quatre acquiesced (also for about the eighth time) and his frown melted to reform as a wan smile. His head dropped back against his pillows. 

After a few blinks Quatre closed his eyes, but soon his faint smile twisted back to an expression of displeasure. "This sucks." 

"Tired?" 

"Bored. I mean, if I were able to get up and do stuff, then of course I wouldn't mind choosing to just lie here and hang out with you. But since I don't have a choice..." He sighed and winced. "And not only that, but you guys have hogged all the fun of the press conferences and impromptu receptions." 

"I wouldn't call them fun." Trowa ignored the sarcasm in Quatre's tone and stood from the flimsy chair in which he'd been seated. He picked up the empty pitcher on Quatre's nightstand - it was made of the same mustard yellow plastic as hospital pitchers on Earth. Whatever company made such items must hold a monopoly. "I'm sure I can arrange for a few journalists to come interview you here - if you want," he spoke as he entered the austere ensuite bathroom, anticipating, with some amusement, Quatre's response. 

"Absolutely not! Trowa, I can't be seen like... like _this_. It's bad enough that I'm so young. The WE board is probably already convinced I'm too weak to b-" Quatre broke off upon Trowa's return from the bathroom, full pitcher in hand. His eyes narrowed as he studied his friend's expression, but his lips curved with amusement. "You're just jerking my chain, aren't you?" 

"Would I do that?" asked Trowa, pleased to see Quatre's ensuing laughter reach his friend's eyes. It was still too infrequent an occurrence for Quatre to smile or laugh with any genuine joy, but Trowa was glad that he could coax such emotions from Quatre occasionally. 

"Ow," Quatre complained in good humour, but one hand nevertheless moved to rub the lump of the bandage on his stomach. "You're so mean, making me laugh like that." 

But the smile vanished, and Quatre's complexion blanched. "Oh, that doesn't feel good at all," he gasped and pinched his eyes shut. "I'm sorry, Trowa," he whispered. 

"It's all right." Quickly, Trowa moved to his friend's side and placed a hand over the smaller one clutching the bedding in a white knuckled grip. "I shouldn't be trying to make you laugh. Is it time for more painkillers?" 

Quatre cracked an eye open. "When is it not?" he panted. 

"I'll get the nurse." 

  
  


Over the past several nights, the sofa in the hall outside Quatre's room had become Trowa's bed of choice, and thus he'd now unconsciously arranged himself in a possessive sprawl over the well worn thing as he waited. Its drab brown chenille covering was yet another reminder that the people who outfitted hospitals cared little for their patients' aesthetic sensibilities. Overhead the lights buzzed tirelessly, but one in his peripheral vision flickered and spasmed. The minute hand of the wall clock lurched forward with its too-loud _whirr-thunk_. 

The nurse had only been with Quatre for ten minutes. It felt like three times that. 

"Hey!" Booted footfalls at the end of the hall and Duo's voice drew Trowa from his contemplation of the clock and its fat, lumbering hands. 

"Hi, Duo." Trowa twisted and sat up to allow Duo room to sit, but the other pilot remained standing. 

"How's Q doing?" Duo tilted his head toward the closed door of Quatre's room and stretched, hands joined and arched above his head, causing his spine to pop. Trowa nearly winced. 

"He's bored." 

The clinical sounds of the corridor gave way to Duo's laugh. "He must be feeling better then. I'm glad." 

"Yeah. The nurse is getting him ready for sleep, so he won't be up for much of a visit." 

"Actually, I came to see you. Wufei's leaving tomorrow, so me and him and Heero were going to have a night out together, see if this rock has any night life. Want to come?" 

"I don't re-" 

"Come on, you've been cooped up in here with Q for the past, what? Six, seven days? He'll get by without you for a few hours. Hell, what were you planning to do - watch him sleep?" 

"No, but..." It was hard to maintain his opposition to the idea in the wake of the pleading grin on Duo's face. A change of scenery might do him some good anyway. "Okay, I'll come. Rashid's coming by later anyway, so Quatre won't be alone for long. Let me tell him first though." 

"Sure." 

Duo sat on the couch, and they waited another few minutes in a silence broken only by the rhythmic tapping of Duo's fingers on his thigh. Once the nurse left, Trowa let Duo precede him into Quatre's room. She'd turned off the overhead lights, and Quatre's drowsy expression was illuminated now by the softer incandescent light of the sconce beside his bed. 

Quatre blinked slowly at Duo. "Duo... How's it going? How's Hilde?" 

"Not too bad, but she's pretty scary on crutches." Duo moved to Quatre's bedside. "You're looking better." 

"Mmm, thanks. Sorry, 'm getting sleepy though..." 

"Nah, that's okay, I just came to steal your buddy for the evening." 

"Trowa?" Quatre's lazy gaze settled on Trowa who remained close to the door. 

"I'll stay if you want," Trowa offered, half hoping that Quatre would. 

"Hm, no, you sh' go out. Have s'm fun." 

He wanted to smile at Quatre, as his friend slurred his words and blinked hard to fend of the sedative. He wanted desperately in that moment to cross the small distance between them to touch Quatre and to tell him he was cherished. Instead he took just three steps closer to the end of the bed, rested his hand on the rail, and asked, "Are you sure?" 

"F'course..." Quatre scowled in sleepy irritation, appearing more like a caricature of annoyance than genuinely annoyed. 

Duo laughed and gently squeezed Quatre's shoulder. "Go to sleep. I'll return Trowa in one piece after I've made sure he's had an injection of fun, okay?" 

"'kay." 

"Good night, Quatre." 

"Night, Q." 

"G'night guys..." 

Like before, Trowa gestured for Duo to precede him; he took one last look at the figure in the bed and reached to shut the door behind him. 

"Trowa...?" came the soft query as Quatre made one last attempt at wakefulness. 

"Yes?" 

"I know." 

They shared a smile, and Quatre closed his eyes. Trowa closed the door, and then hastened his steps down the corridor to catch up with Duo. 

  
  


The entire human habitable structure of MO-II had been constructed beneath the surface of the asteroid. The lack of windows (there were not, as far as Trowa had been able to determine, even any observation ports looking out into space) and illumination which came solely from artificial sources gave it an unrelieved and persistent atmosphere of nighttime. Trowa was relieved that he was not prone to claustrophobia. 

It didn't surprise him that workers had, in the past, been forced to stay at their jobs under Alliance duress. No one would choose to stay here long voluntarily, for unless one were actually operating a mining suit or working in the MS hangars, he'd never receive a glimpse of anything but cut rock and manmade artifacts. 

But, for all its caged feeling, some effort had been made to accommodate life on the meteor base. A small underground sort of downtown lay not far from the hospital. This was where he and Duo were headed, to meet up with Heero and Wufei. According to Duo, this downtown contained a few establishments devoted to making day to day existence on the space rock bearable. In addition to shops and service-oriented businesses, the majority of the store fronts - apparently - advertised food, drink, and entertainment. Thus Duo had expressed confidence that they four would manage to have something passing for a good night out. 

The street they traveled - it was more like an alley in its dimensions, since the avenues of MO-II were designed for foot traffic and the occasional small electric maintenance vehicle rather than cars, buses, or trucks - was unnaturally clean. If Trowa had found the Colonies barren compared to Earth, then they were positively crawling with life and debris compared to the sterility of this place, where the only living things were humans and their sundry microbial hitchhikers. 

Around them, the walls of the buildings reached all the way up to the polished rock of the ceiling, and it was a comfort that Duo knew his way through the catacomb-like array of corridors and intersections. Soon their journey ended; they stepped from the narrow pass between structures into a wide, more brightly lit area bustling with activity. 

"Here we are," said Duo, spreading his arms in presentation. "The booming cosmopolitan downtown of MO-II." 

Trowa was immediately reminded of a movie set. It all looked that little bit too planned and constructed, at complete odds with the more organic way cities and towns evolved planetside - or even the diversity of the Colony streetscapes - a result of the different corporate interests which had invested there. MO-II had but one owner at the time of its foundation, and so everything on the meteor possessed a certain homogeneity of design. Shiny black and steel façades, glass, and the blinding pinks, greens, yellows - and more - of neon lights dominated the main drag. 

More people than Trowa had expected filled the street. Many had the bearing of soldiers though none wore uniforms. Others had the hard look of space miners. The rest - baldly civilian and unused to space judging by the way they moved about so slowly, disoriented by the meteor's light artificial gravity - appeared to be the media contingent from Earth. Trowa recognised a few faces among them. 

Beside him Duo swore and pulled a folded up cap from his back pocket and quickly shoved it on his head, tugging the bill down firmly. One hand went to the back of his head to make sure his hair was still hidden beneath his jacket. 

"You should've worn a hat..." he said to Trowa. 

The prospect of media attention, while unpleasant, didn't constitute a significant threat to their evening. Most of the reporters were likely tired themselves and trying to have their own evening of relaxation. Trowa shrugged. "I don't own a hat." 

"...or slicked your hair back..." 

Trowa raised an eyebrow. 

"Okay, bad idea." Duo laughed. "They probably won't notice us, anyway, Heero seems to be their favourite." 

After a quick glance around, Duo gestured to the left and they moved into the milling bodies to make their way toward a large sign advertising pizza and live music. "If he didn't insist on playing hard to get, they'd probably leave him alone," Trowa commented, while he looked around to catalogue as many details of the street as he could - so he could relay it all to Quatre later. Duo walked with his head down. Really Heero's popularity had more to do with his having been the one to commit that final - and most visible - act of heroism. 

Duo leaned close and practically yelled in Trowa's ear to be heard over the din of surrounding conversation, "Yeah, but at least it means they're leaving Q alone for the time being. That's a good thing." 

The acoustics of steel and stone turned the voices of the crowd into a deafening cacophony, and Trowa reluctantly raised his voice to be heard. "Agreed." 

Somehow attention had stayed away from Quatre, his injuries, and his name. Partly because Relena had an even better known name, made herself accessible, and was controversial enough to keep the reporters (at least those drawn by celebrity and scandal) busy. But also because none of the rest of the pilots had been inclined to divert the spotlight away from Heero, and Heero, being largely apathetic where impending fame was concerned, let it remain on him. 

"He's not as clueless as he makes out, you know." 

"Not any more, no." 

Fortunately the necessity of yelling over the crowd came to an end - they arrived at their destination. Duo squinted at the small lettering of the menu on the door. "I'm pretty sure this is the place Wufei meant." He glanced at Trowa as if expecting confirmation. Trowa shrugged. "Shall we then?" Duo swung the door open, and they entered. 

Behind them, the door rattled shut, and the harsh street sounds vanished, replaced by the jaunty strains of a jazz band and the more even murmur of the restaurant's abundant, conversing patrons. 

Though less jarring than those of the outside, the new sounds milled around Trowa and kept him in a mild sensory fog. The low light levels, the density of people, the energy of their voices, and the persistence of the music posed a perceptual challenge not dissimilar from battle. Trowa would have preferred somewhere quieter; he thought Quatre would have too. 

Duo took his arm and tugged. "There they are," the braided pilot said, making a short gesture with his other hand toward a booth in the corner. Wufei and Heero sat across from each other on the red vinyl upholstered benches. Trowa could only make out Wufei's profile, but he appeared to be speaking. Heero he could see. The dark haired boy had his fingers laced around a tall glass of something bright green and stared at it as if daring it to change colour. 

"Popular place, huh?" Duo said. Laughter swelled from a nearby table seating a large party, nearly drowning out his words. 

"Seems so," Trowa agreed, too softly to be heard, and followed the winding path Duo took between tables and chairs. It could have been an attack path, Heero and Wufei their target. Unconsciously, Trowa leaned into the turns just a little. 

Duo slid into the booth next to Heero. He elbowed the Wing pilot and nodded toward his drink. "What _are_ you drinking? Frog juice?" 

"It's melon flavoured soda," Heero answered without looking up. 

Trowa sat next to Wufei, who returned his nod of greeting and scooted closer to the wall to give Trowa more space. 

Picking up the laminated menu before him, Trowa commented, "Duo, you know they don't have enough frogs in space to juice them." 

Duo laughed, Wufei chuckled, and Heero made an amused sounding grunt. Trowa studied his menu, keeping his smile to himself. 

"Is it good?" Duo asked Heero. 

Heero shrugged with one shoulder and straightened his straw. "It's... very sweet." 

Soon the other three pilots settled into comfortable small talk about menu options and beverage selections. Strange that it had been only a week since such decisions were the farthest from their minds. This was a welcome taste of peace: the safety to relax and expend energy, not on fighting for one's life, but on deciding whether to order extra cheese or not. 

But it was difficult to continue attending to the other pilots' conversation. Now that Trowa was sitting somewhere warm and comfortable with familiar faces and an atmosphere of closeness, the background noise grew fuzzy and began to lull his mind into a detached haze. He'd been able to ignore his fatigue in the hospital; the immediacy of Quatre's injuries and the constant aura of urgency had fueled his alertness these past days. It seemed like an eternity since Trowa had been able to relax without a background sense of dread disturbing his rest. 

The heaviness he'd been enduring began to ease. Trowa could feel the tension in his muscles - his back, neck, and scalp especially - melting away. He fancied he could feel it trickling along his limbs, just under his skin - trickling down and away. He leaned back, dropped the menu, and closed his eyes. 

It only seemed like a nanosecond, but the next thing Trowa knew, there was a gentle hand nudging his shoulder and Duo's voice speaking loudly. 

"Trowa? You okay, man?" 

The hand on his shoulder belonged to Wufei. Trowa blinked his eyes open and met a concerned gaze. Wufei nodded and removed his hand. Opposite Trowa, Duo leaned over the table on his elbows. "You want to share a large pizza? Heero's getting a whole one for himself and Wufei's ordering pasta." 

"Yeah, sure." Trowa stifled a yawn and summoned enough alertness to confirm that pepperoni and olives were fine, although, he would like extra cheese - at least on his half. The waitress brought drinks. Wufei had ordered an espresso for him. 

"Thank you," he said to the Chinese pilot, smiling in genuine gratitude. The coffee smelled rich, far better than the weak stale excuse served in the hospital. "How long was I out?" 

"Not that long. You looked like you needed it." 

"I need _this_," he said, picking up the demitasse cup and taking a grateful swallow. He closed his eyes for a moment to savour that first blessed sip. The taste alone was enough to spark fresh energy. 

"It's decaf," Wufei stated, prompting Trowa's eyes to snap open. "Of course, I am joking," he amended with a small smile. 

"How's Quatre doing?" Heero interrupted from across the table. 

"Getting better, he'll be heading back to L4 in a few days. He prefers to recuperate at home" 

Heero nodded thoughtfully and sipped at his drink. 

"What are your plans, Heero?" Trowa asked, realising that he didn't actually know what the others would be doing or where they'd be going - except that Wufei was headed back to Earth tomorrow. 

"Lieutenant Noin has invited me to go back to Sanq with Relena and her - to rebuild." 

"That should be enough to keep you busy 'til you figure things out, huh?" Duo said and turned to Trowa. "I'm not sure where to go next. Figured I'd head back to L2 with Hilde - we had the start of a nice little salvage business there." 

"Salvage? You'll certainly not be short of work," Wufei said. 

"And you, Wufei? You're going back to Earth?" Trowa asked. 

"Yes, I am." The Chinese pilot said. "I'm accompanying Sally tomorrow to Beijing. The university there still has me on file as having been approved for early admission. I'll be starting classes in February." 

But before Trowa could inquire as to what Wufei planned to study, Heero spoke up again. "It's really over, isn't it?" he murmured at his glass. 

"Yeah, well, don't look so glum about it," said Duo shortly. He grimaced and picked up the crumpled wrapper from Heero's straw to smooth the paper back to some semblance of its original state. Trowa wondered that Duo seemed so reluctant to pursue any sentimentality among the four of them. Who knew when they might see one another again? It was too bad Quatre was missing. 

"I'm not, I just didn't think..." he trailed off with a frown. Duo placed a comforting hand on Heero's forearm; Wufei looked at the wall. 

"I didn't either," Trowa offered. Heero raised his eyes for a moment and returned Trowa's smile with a tight one of his own. "But we did. We all did." 

"Quatre should be here too," Wufei said softly, returning his attention to the others; his eyes glistened with excess moisture before he blinked it away. 

"Yeah," Duo shifted in his seat and turned his attention away from their table. "Here comes the food." 

Their interaction devolved into a mild chaos of tension relieved while their meal was served. They ended up with barely enough room for plates with the two large pizzas being served upon large wooden boards. Wufei ended up cradling his pasta bowl in one hand as he ate. He said it felt more natural to eat that way anyway, although he regretted the necessity of using metal cutlery. 

Conversation resumed comfortably for a time, an easy exchange of questions and answers regarding presents and futures. Trowa was content to simply listen and observe. But eventually his lack of participation became conspicuous. The others fell silent and eyes turned to Trowa. 

Wufei spoke first, "What about you, Trowa?" 

Trowa waited to swallow his current mouthful. He took a sip of water and asked, "What about me?" 

"What are your plans?" 

"I'll be going with Quatre," he said, lifting another triangle of pizza to his plate and catching the trailing strands of cheese with his index finger. "I thought I'd help him out until he's back up and running. I think he's nervous about going home too, so I want to be there for him." 

The silence following his statement hung for a moment. 

"Quatre's lucky to have such a devoted friend, Tro," Duo finally said. 

The _ad hoc_ nickname caused Trowa to wince. Was it appropriate to have acquired a nickname for a name that wasn't truly his? Trowa supposed he needed to do something about that in a legal sense, now that not having a name was no longer such an advantage. But he wasn't sure if he wanted to keep Trowa Barton yet. 

"Look," he said to the others, abruptly feeling the urge to be elsewhere. "I'm going to head back to the hospital now." He stood and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. 

"You sure? You've hardly eaten your share." 

"You need food, Barton. And sleep." 

"Give Quatre my regards." 

"I'm fine, thanks, I will." He handed a few folded notes to Duo, who promptly passed them to Heero. 

"I'll walk you back, Trowa. You still look a little out of it. Wouldn't want you to get yourself lost out there." 

Trowa consented to Duo's guidance with a nod. 

"I'll be back soon, so don't let Heero eat my dinner, okay?" 

"Of course." 

"Good night. Have a safe flight, Wufei." 

"Thank you. Give Quatre my best, please." 

"I will." 

And that was it. He followed Duo through the maze of tables, the crowded main street and labyrinthine alleyways as they backtracked to the hospital. Trowa was grateful for Duo's company as the crowd thinned and they walked along deserted corridors. Duo made small talk, Trowa listened, and it was comfortable. 

When they arrived at the hospital entrance, they paused outside its wide glass doors and faced each other in silence. Someone had thought to construct a small artificial garden here, a mere semi-circle of artificial grass and silk-leaved plastic trees accompanied by a pair of iron benches. A small pool of purplish white light fell at Duo's feet, and the imitation leaves of the imitation trees rustled rhythmically in the steady push of imitation wind. Trowa's gaze traveled up to the ventilation grills in the ceiling above them. 

He could feel Duo's eyes on him - curious - and the other pilot's sudden twin need to both speak and remain silent. 

"I hope Quatre realises how lucky he is to have you," Duo eventually said, bringing Trowa's attention back from the ceiling. The way Duo looked at him and delivered the words, it seemed as if he expected some kind of answer to his statement - as if it were a question in disguise. 

Uncertain what exactly it was Duo felt the need to know that he couldn't simply ask directly, Trowa entertained a few candidates. He and Quatre had never revealed their relationship to the others as anything more than deep friendship. "Most of the time, I think I'm the lucky one." 

"Yeah..." Duo drawled, but the frown on his face indicated his thoughts were already ahead of that utterance. "Hey? I've been meaning to... Can I ask you something?" 

"Go ahead." Trowa ignored the short hairs prickling at the back of his neck. 

"You and Quatre? You're... together, right?" 

Trowa didn't answer immediately. Instead he took and released several slow breaths, giving himself the time to better evaluate his friend's intentions. Duo's eyes were wide and bright, but his smile tense, and his posture unusually symmetrical for Duo Maxwell - with hunched shoulders and both hands stuffed into his jacket pockets despite it not being cold at all. 

Nervous curiosity was all it was; Trowa discerned no hostility or danger. And Duo was not just a trusted ally, but a good friend. "I suppose you could see things between us that way." 

"I mean together romantically." 

Unwittingly, Trowa smiled. "Does it matter, Duo?" 

"Does it, Trowa?" 

"Yes, actually, it does. Quatre's not keen on his private life becoming public." 

"I understand." Duo nodded, and Trowa thought that was all. "But you are, right?" the other boy pressed. 

"Yes, we are." 

"Is it a secret?" 

"I told you because I trust you. And Quatre trusts you." 

"I'll take that as a yes then." 

"That's best." 

"Okay, that's cool. I just, I thought you were, and you know, it makes me feel good to think that you guys found each other... or whatever." 

"Thanks." 

"Hey, when Q wakes up, tell him hi for me, and that I'll be around tomorrow lunchtime?" 

"Okay, I'll tell him. See you tomorrow then." 

"Right, later." 

Duo turned on his heel and headed off at a brisk pace. Trowa watched him until he disappeared around a corner and came to realise that he and Quatre would miss Duo and the others a great deal. 

  
  


Back in Quatre's hospital room, Trowa sat quietly with Rashid. The Maguanac Captain had arrived shortly after Trowa had left and now sat reading by Quatre's bedside. The weekly news magazine he held looked peculiarly small in the big man's hands, and Rashid had changed to civilian clothes - ordinary things, blue trousers and a grey sweater - that erased some of the exoticism the man usually carried with him. In the soft shadows of Quatre's hospital room, relaxed and at peace, Rashid exerted a comforting presence - and not just for the sleeping boy. 

"He's sleeping all right?" Trowa asked, not really wanting to talk, but not wanting the silence either. He kept his voice even lower than its usual volume. 

"He is." Rashid closed the magazine and set it aside. "He was asleep when I arrived." 

Trowa observed Quatre; the blond boy did indeed appear to be sleeping peacefully, relaxed with his head turned slightly to the far wall. Memories of injuries and battles were staying out of his dreams, judging by the tiny smile curving the corner of his mouth. 

_It's really over, isn't it?_ Heero's earlier words returned to Trowa. 

"It _is_ hard to believe the war is over," Trowa said, half responding to them, half hoping for Rashid to speak again. 

"Is it?" Rashid said, and Trowa knew he referred to the end of the war - not to its credibility. 

"For a while at least, I..." The next word Trowa sought was one he rarely allowed himself the luxury to speak aloud. "I hope it is." 

Rashid's voice, often an intimidating growl, had lowered to a gentle rumble. "That's all a soldier can do in peacetime - hope that the peace he brought lasts." 

Yes, that was all Trowa had ever had, all that he'd ever fought for - to give people the chance to dare to hope. Even himself. But now? Trowa's philosophy had barely allowed for possibility of the end of war. Others had to nurture this new peace, not old soldiers. "It's up to people like Relena and Quatre now, I guess," he said. 

"It's up to all of us," Rashid said, turning his head to Quatre. Dim yellow light backlit the man's stern profile. "But, you're right. Master Quatre's battles are just beginning." 

The Maguanac Captain reached to take hold of Quatre's wrist - the boy's hand had slipped over the edge of his mattress. In Rashid's large brown hand, Quatre's smaller pale hand looked like fine porcelain. Gently, as if it were something so delicate, Rashid laid Quatre's hand back alongside the boy and continued, "I wish I could fight by his side in the conflicts to come, but I know nothing of the world he enters now." 

And neither did Trowa. Quatre's world had seemed like some kind of distant legend - a world only spoken of in quiet, private moments between them. Soon he would be in the midst of it. It would be like waking up to find himself in Camelot - only it would be even less familiar. But he had adapted to change before, he had taken up many roles in the past, being with Quatre was the next sensible place to be. 

So why did he doubt his fitness to be there so suddenly? He glanced down at his lap and curled his fingers under his palms. 

"It is a great comfort to me that he has your affection and support to aid him in the difficult days ahead, Trowa. You're young and will be able to learn to live in his world." 

Trowa's gaze pulled up to Rashid's face and found the man's expression softened by a rare smile. "He does, and I'll try," Trowa said, his voice barely more than a whisper. Another word, less familiar than even 'hope', came to Trowa then. "I promise. I'll take care of him as best I can." 

"A soldier's promise?" 

"I no longer have to be a soldier [1]." 

Rashid nodded slowly. "You're a good man, Trowa Barton. I am honoured to call you friend." 

"And I you, Captain." Trowa inclined his head, a gesture of true respect. 

"Please, you may call me Rashid." 

"Rashid," Trowa said and smiled. Rashid's acceptance and approval of his relationship with Quatre had come even more unexpectedly than the man's recognition of it. To have the respect and trust of this man - added to Duo's earlier statement of support - enabled Trowa to entertain a new sense of optimism about the future. 

However, he still didn't know how Quatre's family would respond to his presence in Quatre's life - Quatre had refused to speak of such things, and Trowa had learned to interpret Quatre's determined silence on some issues as a sign of deep discomfort in addressing them. Not only were they young, but also Trowa represented the antithesis of Quatre's family's ideals - and that was without the added complication of sexuality. 

Rashid's voice brought Trowa back from his contemplation. "Do you remember your father, Trowa?" 

"Hm? No, I don't." 

"I did not have a father, but I do know that fathers are powerful influences over their sons. Quatre's father was more powerful than most." 

"Yes, I know." His chair creaked as Trowa shifted to cross one ankle over the opposite knee. The ghost of Quatre's father was never far from his son's mind and conscience. The man remained a powerful influence. 

"But you do not know what kind of man your father was." Rashid offered Trowa a regretful smile. "I am sorry for that." 

A face - given character by both time and good humour - hazel eyes, and grey streaked sandy hair surfaced in Trowa's memory. Peter [2] had taken good care of him, taught him to read, taught him to survive, and taught him how to be a man even as he was still a boy. "Don't be - there's no need," Trowa said, "There was someone once who offered to become my father. He was an extraordinary man, I sometimes think of him." 

"Then remember that the extraordinary things that man did for you, Quatre's father may not have done for him." 

"I don't understand." 

"Do you know how I first met Quatre? 

Trowa affirmed this with a nod. "Quatre has told me the story." 

"Then you've only heard his version?" 

"Yes." 

"When I first met him, he truly believed his father hated him. He deemed his personal worth less than that of mould." Rashid smiled - not in amusement, but nostalgia. "Quatre was a difficult and arrogant child." 

At that, Trowa realised he hadn't noticed when exactly Rashid had dropped the honorific from addressing Quatre. The man was no longer speaking of his comrade and leader, but the boy, recently orphaned, who lay sleeping beside him. Trowa studied Quatre's dormant expression and failed to find any trace of arrogance or self-pity there. 

"Do you know why Quatre wants so desperately to go home now?" Rashid asked. 

"I do. He's still in his father's will. I told him I'd go with him wherever he wanted to go next, but he wants to go home - because it's not too late." 

Rashid nodded. "He feels he can still be his father's son." 

"Yes, he said that." 

"There are things that have injured Quatre more gravely than Dorothy Catalonia's sword." 

"I think I understand." Physical injuries healed faster and often left smaller, less painful scars. 

"I'm glad of that." Rashid leaned forward to deliver his next words. "I think perhaps, Trowa, that you may understand it better than I do." 

With a deep sigh, Rashid then stood, and Trowa followed. He didn't feel nearly as dwarfed by the man as he had once. That was probably a good sign. 

"Take good care of him," Rashid indicated Quatre with a short nod of his head. "And if you ever need anything that is in my power to give, please do not hesitate to contact me." 

"Thank you." 

Absently, Rashid reached to rotate the small vase of purple daisies on Quatre's nightstand a quarter turn. They were real flowers - from Relena. How she had found such things on the meteor was a mystery. Satisfied with the new orientation of the flowers, Rashid returned his attention to Trowa. "I shall visit again tomorrow evening. Earlier perhaps?" 

"All right," said Trowa. 

"Good night then Trowa, I enjoyed our talk." 

"So did I. Good night." 

Trowa watched the door close behind Rashid and stared at it for a long while. 

Extraordinary things Rashid had called them - those gestures of affection and fellowship - things that Quatre had been denied in his youth. This knowledge caused a peculiar ache in Trowa's chest. Hearing the tales from Quatre was one thing - Quatre had a tendency to deliver accounts of his childhood with an air of self-deprecation and trivialisation; he never felt he'd earned the right to complain alongside the others, not even to Trowa. But Rashid's words held a more objective truth, and Trowa was unable to quell the sense of _wrongness_ he experienced - he supposed - on Quatre's behalf. 

Extraordinary things then, were what Quatre needed. Trowa knew of one already within his ability to give Quatre - as soon as his friend awakened. 

He stood and crept to the opposite side of Quatre's bed to tug out the duffel bag he'd stowed in the corner. A brief dig through its contents and he held a slim book [3] in his hands. Ragged and well loved, it was a book Quatre's father should have shared with his son before it was, in fact, too late. 

Gently Trowa touched the still-smiling corner of Quatre's mouth with a fingertip, before taking up the seat beside the bed. He cradled in his hands a story of magic and wonder and extraordinary things and waited for Quatre to wake. 

  


**the end**

* * *

**Notes:**

[1] (Trowa's words from Destiny Chapter 4) 

"No. No promises, Quatre. A soldier can't promise anything. We don't know what we'll be called upon to do, or what mistakes we might make." 

[2] In my timelines, Peter Mikhailov is the man who was responsible for Trowa's education growing up. 

[3] _The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe_ by C.S. Lewis 


End file.
